


Like Sunlight

by Peevesie_Fics



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Married Life, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29874366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peevesie_Fics/pseuds/Peevesie_Fics
Summary: Coco Rivera was like sunlight, warm and happy and loving. Strong and stubborn and persistent, even when the sky was overcast. Weathered yet full of love.
Relationships: Mamá Coco & Héctor Rivera, Mamá Coco/Papá Julio (Coco 2017)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10





	Like Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Coco's life has so much fic potential and Julico is adorable and underrated sooo... enjoy?

She was like sunlight. He saw it in her smile that spread to her eyes, in the spring in her steps as she walked, in her voice when she spoke to him, in her laughter. Sunlight on a pleasant day, that came with a light breeze that ruffled your hair. He didn’t remember what their first conversation was about, but he did remember the twinkle in her eyes as she spoke and her laughter when she tripped on her own feet and dropped the flowers she had bought with endearing clumsiness.

Her presence was so warm, and so happy. Like sunlight.

‘I thought you hated music?’ he asked in surprise when she dragged him to the center of the plaza the first time. Her family’s hatred of music was already infamous by then.

‘Mamá does,’ she shrugged.

He remembered wondering how the formidable Imelda Rivera had a daughter as sweet and chaotic as her, but he wasn’t about to complain.

She was like sunlight, unrestrained and overflowing, until he worked up the courage to ask her about her papá – the stories he had heard weren’t the most reliable. Then she was like a day without a sun, desolate, uncertain, the heartbreak in her expression palpable.

After that she didn’t seem like sunlight anymore. It was almost like she wasn’t quite as free and happy as she should have been, because her life had a gaping hole in it. And it broke his heart. He avoided saying anything, but he hated her father for putting her through this.

The second time he heard the story, it was from Mama Imelda. The whole time she was speaking, Coco was looking the other way. He guessed it hurt her too much. But while she was walking him home, she suddenly said ‘She’s wrong, you know.’

‘What?’

She looked lost. ‘I – I think she is wrong, I mean – it, it doesn’t make sense, but I think she’s wrong. I _know_ she is wrong.’ She added with more certainty.

‘But – you told me yourself – ‘

‘Papá did leave us, but – but not like that. I know. Trust me. He loved us.’ Her voice was close to breaking.

Julio couldn’t help respect her unconditional love, even if didn’t think her papa deserved it.

One night after they were married, she ended up confessing to him that she still had her papá’s letters hidden in her room. They talked late into the night. She told him about her memories of him, and cried a little, but her nostalgic smile never faded. She wondered aloud about all her theories as to why he had never come home. When they finally went to bed, he was almost as sure as she was that her papá still loved her, that maybe he hadn’t meant to leave. It seemed almost childish, the way she clung to a few precious memories and her own heart when every evidence and even Mama Imelda said she was wrong.

Maybe she was like sunlight after all. Just not in the way she had seemed when they first met. She was like sunlight on a cold day, persistent, always fighting to come through even when clouds took over the sky. She was so stubborn, and loved so fiercely.

She was full of love. She radiated love that reminded him why he had associated her with sunlight in the first place.

She expressed her love by insisting her mama take a day off from the zapatería because she looked tired. She expressed it by asking her tíos about their latest inventions and indulging them no matter how absurd they were. She expressed it by always getting something for Pepita when she went shopping. She expressed it by always making time to cook with Rosita even if she was busy – cooking was their thing. She expressed it by always patiently listening to whatever little Victoria had to say, and holding serious discussions with her. She expressed it by showering Elena with physical affection which she enjoyed unlike her sister. She expressed it by staying up late with him talking about everything from the shop to the colour of the sky, by randomly kissing his cheek, by sharing her secrets with him. She even expressed her love in the care with which she made shoes, the dedication with which she remembered every regular customer, the fondness with which she talked to them.

He was awed at how a woman who had been hurt so deeply, could love so freely.

She expressed her love by singing in secret late at night.

By going against her mother to hold on to everything she had left of her father.

Sometimes he wondered if she took after him. He was certain she was not like Mama Imelda, like Victoria and Elena were, albeit in different ways. Did she get her sweetness and clumsiness from him, then? Did he love like her? It seemed impossible that someone who could love like her would ever leave his family. Did she look like him?

He once asked her if she had a photo of him, expecting her to say no, or to get annoyed for asking. But she just looked surprised, and showed him the scrap of a photograph she had. He looked sweet and gentle like her, which surprised him even though he had imagined he would be. He also seemed to be the one she got her cheekbones from.

‘Why did you want to see this?’ she asked, looking at him intently.

He told her the truth. ‘I wondered if you were like him.’ He never would have dared to say it in Mama Imelda’s earshot, but he wondered if she secretly thought so too, and how hard it must be for her if she did.

Coco looked vaguely surprised. ‘You think so?’ she said, clearly not expecting an answer. ‘Maybe I am.’

He watched her put the photo back where she kept his letters, and suddenly wondered if she had inherited her stubbornness from her mama. She was gentle, and cheerful, but she also had that persistence that he loved. Maybe she shared that persistence with her mama, but it showed itself differently in mother and daughter. In Mama Imelda it was like a fire that refused to go out no matter how hard life struck her. In Coco it was the tenacity of sunlight on a cold day.

Her presence was not just warm, it was reassuring. Like a sliver of hope to hold on to when nothing seems right. A reassurance that there will always be something good in the world, something worth loving, something worth living for. Like the faint traces of sun that make it through when the sky is overcast. Faint, yes, but there, reminding you that there is a silver lining.

He saw more of it as they got older. He saw it in in the rare times they struggled to keep the shop going, in the smiles she managed as they worked on their expenses late at night. He saw it in the quiet determination with which she took the reins after Mama Imelda’s passing. She was like sunlight in so many ways, and he was so grateful for her, and for the companionship they had built.

When Victoria died, it felt as if the sun had gone for good, and he had never cared so little, but he was too busy grieving their little girl, and he didn’t think anything would ever be right again. Not even his wife could fix this.

She came through, in the end. She always did. She remembered to make everyone snacks, and tell everyone not to worry about work, they all deserved a break. She never said it was all right, because it wasn’t. But she looked out for everyone, her love and concern quieter but maybe more intense than before. No matter how hard her life got, she always held her head high.

And he knew, as he watched her knit in her designated chair by the window, that she was still every bit as loving and strong as she had been, and she always would be. So much had changed through the years, but her warmth was the same. Weathered maybe, by time and trials, but still as stubbornly loving as before. To him, to Rosita, to Elena and Franco, to their grandchildren. To her deceased mother and uncles.

When they knew he did not have much time, she did her best to make his last days a bit better. She was quieter and more affectionate than usual, refused to let him do any work because he “needed rest”, cooked his favourite dishes for every meal, and when she was not working, spent every waking moment with him, talking about their youth, things they enjoyed, everything they had shared. They said goodbye quietly.

She was like sunlight in the afternoon, softer and faded somewhat, but there, gentle and comforting. And though she was ill, and he only saw her once a year and he missed her terribly, he knew they would be all right. He would wait for her. He had so much to tell her when she arrived. They would be together one day, and they would start over, new yet familiar. He would wait. He had all the time in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I'm happy with the ending but I'm not going to change it. I'd love to know what you think so please let me know! Thanks for reading <3


End file.
